


We'll pretend until we won't

by flyingsolo_flyingfree



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Universe, Case Fic, Fake Marriage, M/M, References to Dean being Bi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingsolo_flyingfree/pseuds/flyingsolo_flyingfree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a vengeful spirit, so Cas drops in to play the role of Dean's fiancé. Then there are Girl Scout cookies, and dusters, and Sam makes lots of friends while Dean and Cas earn themselves the reputation of the obnoxious bickering couple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll pretend until we won't

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on [Guu's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guu/pseuds/Guu) [tumblr post](http://guusana.tumblr.com/post/129658796430/pretend-marriage-fic-in-which-dean-and-cas-dont), which reads: "Pretend marriage fic in which Dean and Cas don’t actually mind being saddled together in a big suburban house to play husbands, but actually terrorize the fuck out of their neighbours with all their bickering, awful behaviour and their ridiculous schedule. They argue with everybody and are so stupidly affectionate with each other that everybody in the neighborhood falls for it right away, but nobody actually likes them except maybe for a bunch of misfit teenagers and half of the girl scout squad."
> 
> She was kind enough to let me take it and run with it. 
> 
> Mentions of Cas/April and Sam/Jess. 
> 
> This takes place sometime post season nine, after the shenanigans of Cas being human, but there's no mention of the MoC. Do with that what you will.

It’s a friend of Dad’s who reaches out to them, a guy they haven’t heard from in at least seven or eight years, probably more.

Dean doesn’t recognize the number. He answers, “Yeah, Dean Winchester.”

“Dean, my boy!” The voice sets off bells in Dean’s memory, but he can’t quite place it. “It’s Tommy, your dad’s old buddy.”

“Holy shit, hi, man,” Dean says, breaking into a grin. It’s always a bit surreal when one of Dad’s old friends finds them, particularly because Dad didn’t have many friends, but he and Sam always liked Tommy. Tommy wasn’t— _isn’t_ , really—a hunter. He just got caught in the cross hairs with some vampires a few years ago, and he and John hit it off. John and Dean managed to scare the nest of them off, but John had put Tommy in contact with some other hunters in his network, just to be sure.

Sam looks over at him inquiringly from the passenger seat and Dean mouths “Tommy Sanders.” Sam’s face lights up, and he paws at Dean tom put the phone on speaker. 

“Tommy!” he exclaims, overjoyed.

“Sam! Wow, you sound old.”

Sam laughs. “I’m in my thirties, so I’m definitely not the gangly kid I was the last time I saw you.”

Tommy whistles. “How’re you boys doin’?”

Dean never really knows how to answer that question, because their lives are usually various shades of shit storm, but at the moment, things aren’t too bad. 

“We’re doing okay. What’s going on with you?” If they haven’t heard from the guy in almost a decade, it’s fair to assume he has some sort of a job for them.

“I’m doing well, and so’s Laura. The kids are grown now, both of ‘em at college.”

“Wow.” Last time Dean remembered seeing Tommy’s daughter and son, they were both prepubescent and awkward as hell.

“Hey, listen, guys. I think we’ve got some sort of a haunting going on in our town.”

“Tell us what’s been happening.”

Tommy takes a breath. "There have been a couple suspicious deaths, young people, all of whom were just about to get married. One person in each couple will kick the bucket a few weeks before the wedding." Tommy lives in a quiet town where, with the exception of the vampire coven, there have only been three murders in fifteen years, so suspicious deaths tend to acquire a lot of attention. 

“I think the best way for you guys to infiltrate this would be from the inside. Laura’s got a house she’s been trying to rent for a couple months now. Do either of you have a sweetheart yet?”

Sam looks pained. Dean guffaws.

“Nope.”

“Hmm. Do you have a friend you could call up, someone to just pretend? I dunno how these things work with ghosts or angry spirits or whatever, but after one of the murders, it came out that one couple wasn’t even real. The girl agreed to marry the guy because he was her best friend. His parents were crazy religious and he was as gay as the day is long, so she was his beard.” Tommy clucks sadly. “Didn’t seem to matter to the spirit.”

Dean has an idea. “How conservative is your town?” Tommy doesn’t say anything and Dean continues, “I’ve got a guy friend we can probably call up to come play house, but if everyone’s gonna just shun us, it’ll make things much harder.”

“Things have gotten better in the past few years, actually,” Tommy says, thoughtful. “I can think of at least two or three openly gay couples here. We’ve even got a ménage à trois running around." 

“Awesome. We’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”

Dean hangs up. Sam smirks at him. “You gonna settle down with Cas?”

Dean shrugs. “Either one of us could, but you tend to like to hunker down and do the research. You’re better at it anyway." 

Sam nods, but there's a note of sarcasm in his voice when he says, “Yeah, okay.” He looks toward the sky. “Hey, Cas? How do you feel about playing house with Dean?”

Cas appears in the backseat, which still makes both of them jump, even after all this time. “Give me three hours to gather provisions.” And then he’s gone. Sam settles into the passenger’s seat with a smug expression, and Dean resolutely ignores him.

 

xXxXx

 

 

“I brought housewarming gifts,” Cas says by way of greeting as he lets himself in the front door, a bag of groceries in his arms. He steps carefully, looking for salt lines, but for once they haven't laid any down. After all, the whole point is to attract the ghost.

“What’d you bring us?” Dean asks, wandering over. Cas got food, a combination of the rabbit food Sam eats and the real food Dean eats. He also brought some random shit to make the place look homier: vases, some sort of a lamp thing, one of those crystal bowls that’s just for decoration.

“Moving in” was a joke—they both only have a duffel bag of stuff to their name, plus the arsenal in Baby's trunk, which he and Sam divide evenly when they split up like this. They were done “unpacking” Dean’s stuff half an hour after they got there. 

On top of that, the place is fucking huge. The people who’re trying to rent it out are rich, and they left their 55 inch TV, still hooked up to cable. “It makes it look better when I’m trying to show the house,” Laura had told them. “Make yourselves at home.”

The notion of being in a colossal suburban house, with a fully stocked fridge and flower boxes outside the windows (Cas actually sets up a _watering schedule_ , heaven help them all), it’s bizarre all on his own. And then the notion of sharing a bed with someone, that’s trippy too.

“So what’s the sleeping situation gonna be? Probably more convincing if we sleep in the same bed, right?” Dean says through a mouthful of toothpaste after Sam leaves, as he and Cas are getting ready for bed. He spits, rinses, and wanders into the bedroom in his boxers. 

Cas looks exasperated. “Technically, I don’t even need to sleep.” But Dean knows Cas does sleep sometimes. Even though Cas got his grace back, he seems like he tires more easily these days, so he does sleep from time to time. "I can stay awake. I would rather do that than sleep on the couch."

“It's not necessary, buddy. I’m not squeamish about it. Just don’t hog the covers.”

It’s Cas who hesitates for a second, then shrugs and peels his trench coat off. “Very well,” he replies.

He turns the lights off, and Cas takes his clothes off, layer by layer. Dean’s got his eyes half closed, and Cas probably thinks that Dean can't see anything with his inferior human eyesight, but Dean can see the tentative expression that flits across Cas’ face before he strips down to his boxers. He’s careful when he climbs into bed, trying not to jostle Dean, and they face opposite directions.

“G’night, Cas,” he says, and he can already feel himself drifting off.

When he wakes up, his first thought is, _Huh. That wasn’t so bad._ Cas has, indeed, stolen all the blankets. He’s mostly stuck to his side of the bed, though. Dean hisses, “You’re not faking it, are you?” But Cas doesn’t reply, breathing deeply, and wow, the guy’s actually asleep. Dean allows himself to look his fill while he can. He and Cas definitely do a lot of staring contests, but they’re usually filled with some sort of tension—anger, betrayal, _holy-shit-you’re-alive_ , maybe a slew of other emotions that Dean tries very hard not to think about. It’s kind of nice to be able to look without Cas looking back. He looks…. serene. His face, normally held so tense in his warrior expression, is relaxed, loose. The lines beneath and around his eyes are less prominent. Dean smiles to himself as he climbs out of bed and wanders into the kitchen to make coffee. 

He soon discovers that Cas is not a morning person.

 

xXxXx

 

Sam calls on the second night bursting with information about the town and the people who’ve died. He doesn’t have much information yet on the spirit itself, but he’s got more than he would normally have in such a short span of time.

“Wow, Sammy, I’m impressed. You got all this from background research?”

“No, I talked to people.” 

“Shit, Sam, didn’t we decide to lie low for a few days before we start sticking our noses in everybody’s business?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Sam exclaims, defensive. “I was on my laptop at a pub and people figured out that I was new, so they all just started talking to me.” He laughs, a little disbelieving. “To be honest, I haven’t even gotten around to doing concrete research. It’s all from the locals.”

Dean can tell that Sam’s in motion, walking somewhere, and then he hears, “Hey, you’re Jerald, right?”

Sam replies that he is, and Dean listens in as yet another townsperson oozing with amiability makes a full introduction to Sam, who hisses, “Call you later” and hangs up. Dean shakes his head. It doesn’t even surprise him anymore. With his big puppy eyes and laid-back demeanor, Sam can definitely be a people magnet.

 

Dean and Cas, on the other hand, acquire the opposite reputation.

 

They go grocery shopping for household necessities. Their place has a real, honest to God dishwasher. Laura left them fairly well equipped, but there are simple things they still need—toilet paper, paper towels, soap.

They squabble in the store because Cas wants to buy a duster (a _duster_!), and Dean thinks he’s being utterly ridiculous.

“We may not even be around long enough to gather dust!” he hisses, trying to keep his voice down—their cover story is that they’re renting the house from Laura long-term, that they’re a permanent fixture in town.

“You’re allergic to dust,” Cas spits back, not giving a damn about the volume of his voice, “and I want a clean home!” Cas’ word choice, “home” instead of “house”, makes Dean squirm, mostly because he doesn’t know if this gig can provide Cas with the home he’s looking for.

Then Dean hears what Cas said and he does a double take. “Wait a minute, I’m not allergic to dust." 

“Yes you are, and we are buying this duster!”

They’re causing a commotion, standing at the front of the store near the checkout line, and people are clearing out around them, shooting them wary glances. A blonde woman with two children hanging off of her whispers, “Take this elsewhere.” Dean takes a couple breaths and hangs his head.

“Fine, we’ll get the damn duster.”

Cas beams, radiant with his victory, and Dean pretends to be grumpy about it for two minutes. Then he gives up. It’s a duster. It isn’t worth losing his cool over.

Although maybe, the voice in his head informs him, maybe it’s what the duster represents that freaks him out.

He shoves that voice way down, swallows his pride, and pays for the groceries.

 

xXxXx

 

When they exit the store, Dean spots a Girl Scout troop selling cookies.

“Cas, have you ever had Girl Scout cookies?” Ever since Cas fell, he gained the capacity to taste; he doesn't eat because he needs to, but every so often, if he's curious about something one of the brothers is eating, he'll ask for a bite. It's achingly human, seeing Cas do things like eat and sleep. If Cas is going to partake in human activities now, he may as well experience the joy of Girl Scout cookies.

Cas cocks his head. "I have not." 

Well, that's all there is to it, then. Dean claps him on the shoulder. “Buddy, you’ve been missing out."

Dean starts to drag Cas by the arm over to the table, and Cas whispers, “Dean, hold my hand.” Oh, right. They're engaged. 

Dean slides his hand down Cas’ arm and slots their fingers together. They stroll up to the table and Dean smiles down at the three girls. They look like they’re maybe eight or nine years old. They’d looked horribly bored when Dean first spotted them, but now all three are beaming from ear to ear.

“My, uh—” Shit, for two guys to be engaged, it’s technically acceptable if neither is wearing a ring, isn’t it? Dean hopes so. He and Cas weren’t planning on socializing yet so they haven’t worked out their cover story. He only fumbles for half a second before he plasters on his most charming grin to compensate for his hesitation. “My fiancé here has never experienced the wonder of Girl Scout cookies,” he announces, and one of the girls audibly gasps.

Cas is still confused. He murmurs to Dean, “I don’t understand. Why are they selling cookies? Is it like a bake sale?”

“They win prizes depending on how many boxes of cookies they sell. Like, what, I think they used to give away bikes?” 

One of the girls nods enthusiastically, her tight red curls bouncing. “Each of us has been selling by ourselves door to door, and then we also sell together as a troop.” She stage whispers, “I’m aiming for the clock radio.” Then, louder, she says, “If our entire troop sells a certain number of boxes, we all get these really cool sweatshirts.”

Cas nods slowly. “How many more boxes do you have to sell before you can all get sweatshirts?”

The girls look down at their clipboard. “Twenty-six.”

Dean digs out his wallet. “Well, since this guy hasn’t experienced any of them, we’ll take one box of each. Well, not the raisin and cranberry ones. But that’s still, what,” he counts, “thirteen boxes?”

The kids actually squeal. Dean has enough cash to pay them in full, and the girls take at least five minutes trying to make change for them. When they realize they can’t make proper change and they’re five dollars short, Dean says, “Keep the extra. Go buy a candy bar or something.” He pockets his wallet and Cas reaches down to grab his hand again.

“How does this work? When do we get the cookies?” Cas asks, sounding serious. Dean has to hold back a laugh. Even if it makes sense for Cas to be worried, considering they don’t know how long they’ll be here, it’s kind of hilarious that Cas is suddenly invested in these cookies.

“Um, in five days,” the ginger girl says. She looks down at the address Cas had written down (Dean couldn’t remember off the top of his head, but Cas whispered _I’ve got it_ ). “Hey, you guys are our new neighbors!”

Go figure. “Is that so?” Dean asks.

“Yeah! Are you coming to the block party next weekend? The invitations were put into everyone’s mailboxes last week, but my mom is the head of the committee. I can let her know you’re coming!”

“That’s great, thank you so much,” Cas says, giving an awkward thumbs-up. They bid farewell to the girls—the first friends they’ve made in this town, _ha_ —and as they walk back across the parking lot, Cas is looking at Dean with this ridiculously fond expression on his face.

“What? Did I cut myself shaving?” Dean asks, because they’re still holding hands, and it’s not often that Cas aims that sort of look in his direction.

“You’re a good person, Dean,” Cas replies, and huh, Dean wasn’t expecting that.

He lets go of Cas’ hand, a bit flustered, and they get into the car. His voice is gruff as he replies, “You haven’t experienced Girl Scout cookies. I’m making sure you get the full human experience.”

They buckle up, and Cas is still looking at him like _that_. “Thank you, Dean,” he says, and it’s complacent, the way Sammy speaks when he thinks he knows something Dean doesn’t, but Dean doesn’t say anything; he just allows Cas’ expression to flash through his mind for the rest of the afternoon.

 

xXxXx

 

It’s their third night there that the spirit makes an appearance.

Dean and Cas are sacked out on the couch watching The Bachelor when the channel cuts out. Dean’s been keeping the rock salt gun with him at all times so he stands slowly, takes the gun in hand. For a minute, nothing happens. Then, Cas' decorative crystal bowl flies off the table and across the room, narrowly missing Dean’s head. It shatters against the wall.

“Hey, that’s not very nice!” he shouts, whirling around to face where the bowl had been. Cas has launched to his feet and has Dean’s back with the fire poker. They stand there for another few minutes, bristling, but it seems like the spirit is gone. Dean relaxes as the cable flickers back on.

Cas grouses, “I liked that bowl.”

They clean up the mess together, then head back to the couch. Dean gets there first and lounges back against the arm, legs stretched out, pillows propping him up. He expects Cas to tell him to move, but Cas immediately settles himself between Dean’s legs, lying back against Dean’s chest. 

Dean’s frozen for a minute, and Cas grunts, frustrated, and forcibly wraps Dean’s arms around him. Dean slowly relaxes into the position, and he spends a little bit of time freaking out about how _not_ weird it is. Then he tells his brain to shut up, and reaches up to comb his fingers through Cas’ hair. Cas makes a noise that’s not unlike a purr, and it’s so worth it.

 

xXxXx

 

The two of them decide they’re going to continue to try to go under the radar for a little bit longer, maybe emerge just before the block party so they have a few people they can chat with while they mingle.

It doesn’t work out that way. They end up making themselves known far more ostentatiously than they intend to.

After all, they aren’t just going to sit around in the house all day, twiddling their thumbs and waiting for the ghost to call. They run a few more errands, mostly because it’s a small town and they figure that even without introducing themselves, they may be able to catch some gossip in the checkout lines.

What ends up happening is that they make scenes in public places, arguing with each other about dumb shit. The duster grocery store argument essentially repeats itself in every public location they decide to show up at.

The second time it happens, they’re at a mom and pop drug store, and they’re arguing about milk. Cas wants skim, Dean wants 2%.

“Sam is right, you have to be more careful with what you’re putting into your body,” Cas says, clutching the carton of milk to his chest like a damn shield. Dean rolls his eyes dramatically. 

“Excuse me if I’ll take my extra two percent of fat for the sake of my milk tasting better! It’s milk! It’s fucking _milk_ , Cas!”

Cas looks scandalized. “Dean! Language!” There’s a father tugging his two daughters along forcibly by their wrists, tossing the dirtiest glare over his shoulder at Dean as he storms out. The cashier, too, seems quite displeased. There’s a small group of punk teenagers in there, hoarding Red Bull and buying a few lighters. They overhear the argument and they just snicker. 

The only person who will actually come within a five-foot radius of them is an older woman, who approaches them slowly and gives them a rueful smile.

“You guys must be siblings, right?” Dean can only stare at her horrified. She continues, “I remember fighting with my sister over the stupidest things, even when we were grown up. You must be the older brother,” she says to Cas.

Dean nearly drops his carton of milk, and then instinct takes over—protect their cover, _protect their cover_. He pretends to look sheepish, pinches the bridge of his nose and steps closer to Cas.

“Uh, it totally makes sense you’d think that, but this is actually my fiancé, Castiel,” he says, and he sees Cas’ posture shift, sees the understanding dawn on his face before he takes Dean’s hand.

“We’ve had a stressful week,” Cas adds.

The woman looks taken aback for a moment, and Dean worries that maybe she’s the type of old person who's intolerant and bigoted, but she rolls with it shockingly well. “You’re only engaged?” She chuckles and winks. “Just imagine how you’ll fight when you’re married.”

Dean and Cas continue to hold hands as they watch her hobble out of the store. Cas glances at Dean somewhat apologetically. “I’ve only tried 2% once, and I don’t really remember how it tasted. And it is such a negligible percentile of fat…”

“Aw, babe. You’re so good to me.” 

Cas glares, but says nothing as they pay for the milk and leave. On the way out, Dean slaps Cas’ ass. The teenagers are still lurking outside, and one of them whistles.

Dean calls out across the parking lot, “You better not be using those lighters for cigs.”

One of them yells back, “Nah, dude. Mary Jane.”

“Oh.” Dean waves dismissively. “Fine. Don’t smoke and drive." 

They collectively cheer. “Marijuana is not good either, Dean,” Cas says as they get in the car, but Dean just shakes his head, and Cas lets it go, sitting back with a sigh.

 

xXxXx

 

Their cookies are slated to arrive tomorrow, which is the reason they bought milk.

Cas has not experienced the miracle of milk and cookies together, but Dean also forces Cas to try the milk plain beforehand.

Cas studies the glass Dean hands to him. “It looks frothier,” he observes.

“Just try it.”

Cas does, taking a small sip. Dean taps his foot, feigning impatience while Cas decides how he feels about it.

“This tastes… pleasant. It is creamier,” Cas admits, surprised, turning to stare at Dean. 

Cas is so earnest in his shock, which is sort of endearing by itself, but to top it off, he’s got a milk mustache, a thin film of white above his upper lip. Dean grins and Cas tilts his head, confused.

Dean’s blindsided by the urge to lean in and lick the mustache off Cas’ mouth, and it’s a mental image that hits hard. He clears his throat, says, “I’m glad you like it, buddy. You’ve got a little something—“

“Oh!” Cas wipes his mouth with his sleeve. He swirls the milk in the glass the way you’d swirl wine at a fancy restaurant. “What would you have done if I hated it?”

Dean lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “Gone out and bought you some of your disgusting watery skim milk. Marriage is about compromise, right?”

The corner of Cas’ mouth turns up in an affectionate smile, his eyes going soft. “Yes, it is.”

Dean turns away, away from Cas’ eyes and away from Cas’ smile. “Yeah yeah, shut up and drink your milk.”

That night, he sticks so closely to his side of the bed, he nearly falls off.

 

xXxXx

 

The girl who looks like little orphan Annie shows up the following night, a wagon full of Girl Scout cookies in tow.

Cas opens the door and when he realizes what it is, he looks more stoked than Dean’s seem him look in a long time. Maybe ever.

Dean puts his gun away and comes up behind him. “Did you guys sell the rest of the cookies you needed to sell?”

“Yeah!” She’s grinning, her little chest puffed out with pride. “We’re getting our sweatshirts next week!”

She helps unload the cookies from the wagon, until they’re stacked precariously in their arms.

“I have to go. I have three more deliveries and I have to be home before dinner,” she says sternly, clearly repeating her mother’s words. She’s got her game face on, clutching the handle tightly. She says goodnight and reiterates that she’s looking forward to seeing them tomorrow.

Of course, the night they receive the cookies is the first night Sam actually comes to visit. Just by coincidence.

They talk for a few hours while Sam fills them in on the things he’s discovered, both the ghost stories he’s heard from his apparently ever-growing social circle, as well as what he’s learned in his research.

Through several mouthfuls of shortbread cookie, he explains that there was a woman who was left by her fiancé on the morning of her wedding. She died by suicide exactly three months after her wedding was supposed to take place.

“So… what she decides to do is to kill one person in all these young couples? Why?” Cas asks.

Dean says, “Dude, we’ve worked way weirder cases. Now we’ve got our motive.”

Sam rips open the box of Thin Mints, which were always his favorite. “I’m still working on where she’s buried.” 

Cas takes a swig of milk and glances at Dean. He must know, this time, that he has a milk mustache. Dean gazes back at Cas and his eyes flicker down, and then his thoughts travel below the gutter and into the sewer because he thinks, _it’s white, white and liquid and viscous_ , and oh, _there’s_ something Dean should’ve never allowed himself to contemplate because now he can’t get that pretty picture out of his head.

And the thing is, the corners of Cas’ mouth curl in something like a smirk, and instead of using the napkin in front of him, he swipes his tongue across his upper lip, licking the milk mustache away. It sort of feels like the times Dean’s been pinned to a wall with demon mojo, usually suspended with weight pressing on his chest, effectively knocking the wind out of him. He shifts his legs under the table, and yeah, Cas is definitely looking pretty self-satisfied right now.

If Sam notices, he doesn’t call him on it. He’s got a small stack of Thin Mints in front of him on the table, straightening them as he picks them off one by one. “You guys still going to that block party tomorrow?”

“Yeah, we’ll go,” Dean says, glad to divert his attention back to the issue at hand. “Figure we can find out some more. Although, at the rate you’re going, you’ll be friends with more people than we’ll even encounter tomorrow.” Sam gives him a dimply grin and crams another cookie in his mouth.

“Kind of funny that the first night you decide to show up is when the cookies arrive, big boy,” Dean observes with a glare.

Sam gives his most innocent expression, the one he uses on grieving victims and angry cops, and replies, “Yeah, about that,” then shoves a cookie box in Dean’s face. When Dean’s eyes uncross, he reads “Thanks-A-Lot”, and he rolls his eyes.

 

xXxXx

 

Cas doesn’t like the combination of peanut butter and chocolate, so he’s not particularly fond of those, though he’s okay with the peanut butter ones that don’t have any chocolate on them. He doesn’t like the lemon-flavored ones—which is great, because Dean loves them. Sam ate almost the entire box of shortbreads, so Cas only got one or two, but he was a fan of those. He likes the Trios, and Dean’s never tried them before, he’s pretty sure they’re new, but he’s only so-so on them, so Cas gets that box to himself.

Sam and Dean tend to like the Thanks-A-Lots, but Cas thinks they’re sort of plain (which is funny, considering he likes the shortbreads). He loves the toffee ones.

And Dean and Cas fight over the box of those caramel coconut ones, whatever they’re called in this region. Cas takes a bite and says, “These are a gift from heaven,” and Dean nearly snorts milk out of his nose.

 

xXxXx

 

Dean gets a text later that night from Sam, complaining that Dean didn’t pick up any of the raisin cookies.

 

He doesn’t even dignify it with a response.

 

xXxXx

 

That night, a painting flies off the wall and into the fireplace, where it spontaneously bursts into flames. Dean thinks he catches a glimpse of a mousy-looking girl with brown hair disappearing through the doorway, but he’s not certain. Cas claims he didn’t see her.

 

Either way, he’s glad the block party is tomorrow.

 

xXxXx

 

 

Dean and Cas get their story straight while they’re getting ready.

“So we did meet six years ago?”

“Yeah,” Dean calls from the bathroom, where he’s shaving for the first time in a few days. “Easiest if we keep the details as much like our real story as possible.”

 _Our real story_. It’s a phrase that tastes funny in his mouth, but, he supposes, it’s not inaccurate. They do have a story, he and Cas.

Cas thinks nothing of it either, because he replies without hesitation. “That’s true. There will be fewer fabricated details.” 

“Um, okay. How about…” Dean wanders into the bedroom to put on his clothes—he and Cas had quickly gotten over any weirdness about seeing each other in their underwear. He steps into his jeans. “Where did we meet?”

“I’m assuming hell is not an acceptable answer,” Cas remarks dryly.

“No, probably won’t go over well with the civilians.” Dean pulls on a belt, toying with the buckle as he thinks. “Well, when I remember meeting you, it was in a barn. We could say we both got shitty Groupons and decided to take group riding lessons, a one- or two-time thing, and that’s how we met.”

Cas wrinkles his nose. “What’s Groupon?”

Dean begins to button his shirt and sighs. “You can look it up later. Can you remember that? It’ll be easier for me to remember if we say we met in a barn, ‘cause we sorta did.”

“Well, I did try to introduce myself several times prior—"

“Yeah, I remember. I still think you broke my eardrums.” Dean studies himself in the mirror. “Tie or no tie?”

Cas had been sitting on the bed, fully clothed and ready to go, and he stands now, coming up behind Dean and staring at their reflections over his shoulder.

“Without the tie. You look good like that.”

Dean turns around and claps Cas on the shoulder. “Thanks, Casanova. You’re not so bad yourself. Except,” and Dean has to cover his laugh, “your buttons aren’t matched.” There’s an extra button sticking out on the bottom, so Cas’ shirt is crooked. It’s like how his tie always used to be messed up, askew and usually backwards. Dean reaches down to unbutton and rebutton Cas’ shirt while they’re speaking, and it’s only once he’s halfway up the row that his brain catches up with his hands. At that point, he’s too far along to back out. He keeps his eyes down and wracks his brain for more details to add to their story.

“You asked me out,” he supplies.

He can see Cas frown in his peripheral vision as he gets to the top button, but he still doesn’t look into his friend’s face. “Why?” Cas asks.

“Because I’m handsome and you fell ass over heels for me.”

Cas just accepts that as an answer, nods and says, “Very well.” Dean’s hands momentarily stutter now that Cas’ shirt is entirely open, but he recovers and starts rebuttoning, determined as ever. Cas continues, “Where did we live before we moved here?”

“I dunno. Any place you’ve ever wanted to live?" 

“Sedona, Arizona,” Cas replies immediately. Dean does look up now, surprised at how quick the response was.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s a beautiful area, a good combination of urban and suburban. Their red rocks are breathtaking. And I like the heat.”

Dean wants to point out that most of Arizona is comprised of red rocks, that it isn’t a feature specific to Sedona, but Cas’ face is set, serious, and Dean caves. “Okay. Sedona it is.”

“Did I propose?” Cas asks, his voice a little quieter now. Without even noticing, Dean’s hands have slowed, taking his time with Cas’ buttons. 

His voice is lower, now, too, like they’re telling secrets in the dark. “I don’t know.”

Cas hums, his eyes taking on that faraway look that he has when he thinks really hard about something. “I did. We…” He laughs, a throaty sounds and Dean’s fingers fumble on the last button, almost at the waist of Cas’ jeans. “I made you get up early one morning to come for a hike with me. And you weren’t happy about it, you were grumpy about being woken up.”

Dean clucks his tongue. “I think you’re confusing me with yourself.”

Cas barrels onward as if Dean hadn’t spoken, and Dean can tell that Cas is envisioning the whole thing, that he can see it all picture perfect in his mind’s eye. Dean drops his hands from Cas’ shirt but leans in a little closer, listening intently. He wants to see what Cas is seeing.

“I made us breakfast and we had a picnic on top of the rocks and watched the sunrise. And when I got down on one knee,” Cas smiles, genuine and warm, and Dean can almost see his face bathed in the orange-pink of dawn, “you were so surprised that you fell, split your side open on one of the rocks. Right here.” Cas presses his palm to a faded but visible jagged scar on Dean’s ribcage. How he knew exactly where it was through his shirt, Dean can’t begin to guess. “After we got to the hospital and you woke up, you yelled at me and said your injury was my fault for surprising you that early in the morning. Your yelling woke the entire floor, including the coma patients. And then you said yes.”

Cas blinks, returns to himself. “Does that sound all right to you?” he asks, earnest. And really, he shouldn’t be concerned. Dean’s not a romantic, doesn’t do grand gestures, has never really thought highly of the institution of marriage, but Cas’ depiction of it—the fondness in Cas’ voice as he spun a tale that wasn’t theirs, but damnit, Dean almost believes it could be—Dean’s not about to reject Cas’ cover story.

“Yeah, man. That sounds good to me.”

 

xXxXx

 

The thing is, a lot of people in the neighborhood have at least seen Dean and Cas by now, and for many, the weird bickering gay couple did not make a first good impression. Their Girl Scout friend, whose name is Lilla, immediately spots them and skips over, dragging them to meet her mom.

“Hi,” Dean says, extending a hand, “I’m Andrew, this is my fiancé Steve.”

(Dean had put up a fight against using the alias Cas had used when he was human, because he loathed the memories from that time, they made him writhe with guilt, but Cas insisted, said it was something he knew he’d respond to without having to think too hard. So they stuck with Steve.)

“Hi, I'm Caroline.” She shakes Dean’s hand and then Cas’. “Laura told me you guys are engaged?” Cas nods easily and slips his arm through Dean’s, a gesture that’s PDA enough without being too much. Dean takes it in stride.

“Yeah! Summer wedding,” Dean says, and whoa, he isn’t sure where that came from, but apparently they’re getting married in the summer. Cas gives him a look, cocks his eyebrow, and it makes Dean feel disgruntled and off-balance, so he turns back towards Caroline.

Caroline is friendly in a cool and distant sort of way—not nearly as enthusiastic as her daughter, but certainly more willing to talk to them than some of the other attendees. She asks about them and how they wound up here, and their rehearsed backstory goes off without a hitch, it’s seamless and they interrupt each other to get the details exactly right in a way that’s natural and (hopefully, to an outsider) adorable. Cas slides his hand into Dean’s back pocket and it takes Dean a full five minutes before he even notices.

Just as they’re working up to trying to prod for details about the spirit, another woman yells that it’s time for the water balloon toss contest. Dean tugs Cas over, outlining the basic gist of how the water balloon toss works (“You’re just going to throw it to me, nice and easy, and we’ll toss it back and forth and try not to let it break. We don’t have to win, maybe we can just be in the last five standing, huh?”). They stand in line, about a step apart, and Lilla blows a whistle to start everyone off.

For a while, they do really well. There are probably thirty pairings to start, and as they step farther and farther apart, balloons begin to burst. The kids squeal, siblings squabbling and whining, “Mom, she did that on purpose!”; the adults laugh good-naturedly and go inside to dry off and change clothes.

They’re probably a full twenty paces away from each other, and there are only seven other pairings left in the running. Cas lobs the balloon at him, throwing underhand, but he throws too high. And it breaks on Dean’s face.

Lilla is absolutely delighted, and there are a few titters from surrounding families and kids while Dean stands there, stunned. Cas looks appalled—he clearly didn’t intend to do it—but he stays rooted where he is, as though _he’s_ the one who’s just been doused by cold water and non-latex.

Dean comes to his senses and calls across the distance, “Oh, it’s on.”

The person immediately to his left is one of the teenagers he and Cas met outside the store when they were fighting over the milk. He’s got blue hair, a pierced lip, and he knows the deal before Dean even asks, “Can I use that?” He hands the balloon over, and Dean mutters a thank you before he hurls it at Cas, pitching at full speed. It bursts in the center of Cas’ chest, and Dean’s pretty proud of his aim, couldn’t have done it better if there’d been a bullseye painted on his shirt.

Cas gasps as it breaks, and Dean has about three seconds to congratulate himself before he realizes that there were other gasps, too—some of the neighbors who were standing near Cas got soaked as well. And they’re not happy with Dean. 

Cas’ eyes narrow and it’s almost like when Dean first met him, when he was a soldier of God with a stiff upper lip, rigid as a board, willing and able to smite anyone on the spot. Right now, Dean’s the target of that wrath.

People are edging away from them, those who were on the receiving end of Dean’s throw muttering unhappily. The guy who handed Dean the balloon says, “Awesome throw, man,” before he steps out of the way as Cas comes barreling over. He tackles Dean, not enough to send them both to the ground but enough for Dean to stagger, to lose his balance for a minute and say breathlessly, “You’re such an ass!”

They tussle for a minute, play-wrestling the way Dean and Sam used to when they were kids, then they break apart. They pretend to straighten themselves out, their own clothes and each other’s. Most people are avoiding them now, but Lilla approaches them, laughing.

“You know,” she says, “I don’t think many people are happy with you two right now.” Cas nods, ashamed. Lilla continues, “But I think you guys are really cute.”

She leans in, a few stray curls falling in her face as she cups a hand over her cheek and stage-whispers, “You fight a lot, but I can tell you really like each other.” And she giggles again as she leans back, so sure of herself, certain she’s discovered the world’s best secret.

Dean has noticed that Cas has this face when it comes to children. It’s a combination of the fond look he sometimes gives Dean and amusement, and he’s wearing it right now. He doesn’t seem angry about the water balloon fight anymore, he just plays right along with her. If he knows Dean’s stomach is in knots, he ignores it.

“Lilla, you’re a very perceptive girl,” Cas replies, giving her the toothy grin he saves for when he’s really happy. “We do like each other. Quite a bit, actually,” Cas says, and then he’s got a finger hooked under Dean’s chin, turning Dean’s face to him and planting a chaste kiss on his mouth.

Dean feels his heart rate stutter and then kick into double time as Cas pulls away, even though it was the briefest of kisses, the simplest little thing. Cas turns back to face Lilla but because he’s Cas, he knows the reaction Dean is having and he grabs Dean’s hand, lacing their fingers together and rubbing his thumb across Dean’s knuckles. 

And then Dean’s just really confused, because it feels way too ordinary, way too real and right.

He’s pulled from his musings when Lilla asks, “I heard you telling Mommy that you’re getting married, right?” Cas nods. Her face turns serious, grave. “You have to be careful, or Hannah will come for you.”

Dean can feel the way Cas tenses beside him, and he’s at least 80% sure that his vocal cords are functioning normally by now, so he asks, “Who’s Hannah?”

Lilla clams up. Or she does for a minute, anyway. Finally, she glances around them, and, finding that most of the other adults are milling about, she grabs Cas’ hand (the one Dean isn’t holding) and says, “Come on.”

She drags them through a front yard of what’s presumably her house, taking them around to the back. She lets go of Cas’ hand and sits cross-legged beneath a huge tree. The tree is large enough to hide all three of them from the view of anyone who could be passing by as Dean and Cas sit with their knees touching, angled toward each other and facing Lilla. They join her on the ground.

“Mommy told me never to talk about Hannah,” Lilla starts, looking a little guilty, “but sometimes, I get afraid, and it drives me crazy that everyone’s just _not_ talking about her.”

She makes fists in the lawn and pulls up handfuls of grass, picking through her fingers and letting the blades fall back down one by one. “Hannah was my babysitter. She died two years ago.”

Well, this is awfully convenient. 

“She was supposed to marry Mark. She even took me with her to pick out the dress. It was so pretty,” she laments with a sigh. “And then Mark didn’t show up the morning of her wedding. He was just… gone. After that, she was really different.” 

“How was she different, Lilla?” Dean asks.

“Well, she stopped smiling. She didn’t really care about anything anymore. She wouldn’t let me watch Disney movies, because she hated the happy endings. She told me over and over that I should never try to get married.” Lilla rubs her grass-stained palms up and down her knobby knees. “I met her friend Carly a couple times, and Carly was supposed to get married a month after Hannah was. Hannah kept telling me that Carly shouldn’t get married, that she didn’t know what she was doing. She went on and on about how you can never really know another person.”

“Did she go to Carly’s wedding?”

Lilla shakes her head no. “Sometimes, when Mom dropped me off at Hannah’s house, Hannah would be wearing her wedding dress, sitting all curled in on herself on the couch. It got really dirty those last few months.” Lilla wrinkles her nose in disgust. “I thought that dress was so pretty when she picked it out, but it got ruined. They even found her in it when she died. And then creepy things started happening, and people started dying.”

Dean exhales. Lilla looks up at him, and then her face becomes tight, skeptical. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, no, Lilla,” Cas chimes in immediately. “We believe you. We’ve had some weird things happen to us since we got here.”

Lilla’s eyes widen in sheer panic. “Oh, no, not you too!” she whispers, and shit, is she going to cry? “I like you guys,” she says, quiet and afraid, a tremor in her voice.

Cas makes a noise of sympathy, understanding. “We’ll be careful, Lilla. Don’t worry.”

Dean feels awkward, never really knows how to comfort people, especially not children, so he waits it out while Lilla sniffles and pulls herself together.

“Lilla,” he starts cautiously when he thinks she might be up for talking again. “Lilla, this is important. Do you know where she was buried?” 

“She wasn’t. She was—“ She tilts her head in a way that looks a lot like Cas. “What’s it called when they burn the body? They scattered her ashes in a river.”

Dean curses internally. That’s why Sam couldn’t find her on record at any of the graveyards around town.

Lilla’s mom calls for her, and Lilla gets to her feet, brushes herself off. “I’ll go to her and pull her away from here so you guys can make a clean getaway. She’d think it was a little weird if she knew I was sitting in our backyard with two men.” 

She has a fair point.

“Just wait a minute and sneak out past the other side of the house. I’ll make sure she isn’t paying attention.” She starts to walk off, then stops and retraces her steps, looking up as Dean and Cas stand up.

“Please be careful,” she says, so earnest and frightened, and when Cas opens his arms to hug her, this girl they met a few days ago, it isn’t weird or creepy. She steps into the circle of his arms and clings to him for a minute before she mutters, “I have to go, Mom’s looking for me,” and sprints away.

Dean and Cas watch her leave, wait for two minutes to pass, and then they follow her instructions and sneak around the other side of the house. They emerge from the brush and the party has begun to clear out, so the few people who are left mingling don’t notice them.

Dean sends Sam a text telling him to come over once it’s dark, and he and Cas head back to the house to make dinner. They work side-by-side in the kitchen making chicken parm and discuss the case.

“The entire thing with Hannah sounds much like the struggles of Miss Havisham,” Cas reflects, mostly talking to himself.

Dean pauses, squints. “…Dickens, right?”

Cas looks floored that Dean would know where the reference came from. Dean says, “Hey, I did go to school for a little while. Give me some credit.”

Cas immediately replies, “I know, Dean. You’re an intelligent man.”

Dean huffs. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He stirs red pepper flakes and oregano into some sauce while Cas breads the chicken.

“It just seems as though she couldn’t move past it,” Cas says, and it sounds like he definitely pities her.

“Do you feel bad for this chick? I mean, come on, what happened to her sucks, but getting jilted at the alter ain’t an excuse for killing people.”

“No, it isn’t,” Cas agrees; Dean sees there’s a “but” coming. “It’s just that all of these vengeful spirits you and Sam hunt, they think what they’re doing is right. Their humanity has been twisted the longer they’ve haunted a location, but their hatred tends to stem from hurt.” 

Dean puts the spoon down. “You sound like Sammy did when we first started all this. Don’t go all bleeding heart on me now, Cas.”

“I’m not.” Cas plops the chicken onto the pan and it sizzles, the olive oil and rosemary concoction around it bubbling. “I know we need to vanquish her. I simply feel sorry for how she came to be this way.”

They’re silent for a few minutes, mostly because Dean doesn’t know what to say. Eventually, what he comes up with is, “Well, hopefully in, uh, ‘vanquishing’ her, we can let all the young couples around here get married, and, you know, actually live.”

Cas’ lips press into a thin line. “She may not be wrong in her doubt. Human love is very fickle.”

Dean turns the burner off and turns to face Cas completely, arms folded across his chest. “Come on, man. I know me and Sam’s track records aren’t the greatest, and I know the only time you ever got laid she stabbed you after. But are you really that cynical? You’ve been around for, what, a couple million years? Granted, humans haven’t been around that long, but you must have seen some successful love stories unfold in your day.”

Cas flips the chicken and bites the skin inside his lower lip. “I have witnessed situations where it has worked out, as it were,” he says slowly. “But human beings in general are very capricious. These days, dating seems more focused on sexual intercourse than anything else.”

No wonder Cas sympathizes with Hannah, Dean realizes. He’s just as skeptical as she was, as she _is_.

“Not a fan of hook-up culture, then?” Dean jokes. Cas spares a wary glance in his direction and doesn’t respond. Dinner’s almost ready, so Dean sends Cas to go set the table while he fetches plates and drinks. It gives him a minute to think about what he wants to say. It’s a strange feeling, trying to talk an angel into believing in love. Really, Dean would rather pull out a few molars with just a pair of pliers than have this conversation, but Cas seems pretty steadfast in his belief that genuine human love is few and far between, and it’s something they should discuss.

He brings over two plates of chicken parm, placing Cas’ down in front of him and sitting down across from him. Cas takes one look at the steaming plate in front of him and he visibly relaxes, closing his eyes as he inhales. “This looks delicious, thank you, Dean.”

Dean picks up his water glass and clinks it against Cas’. “What do you mean, thank you? It was a duel effort. Eat up. Not that you need it for fuel, but hopefully we'll get you hooked on human favorites, like Girl Scout cookies and chicken parm.” 

Dean inhales his food and Cas matches his pace—there were hamburgers and hot dogs at the block party, but Dean didn’t have time to grab anything, so he's hungry. Cas licks his fork clean and says he’s going to grab seconds, offers to grab some for Dean, too. Dean nods and watches Cas disappear into the kitchen.

With the relationship stuff, Dean gets where Cas is coming from, he really does. Especially given Cas’ own experience, with the den of iniquity and then April; and it certainly doesn’t help that Cas’ closest connection to humanity is probably the Winchester boys, particularly Dean (the words “more profound bond” float through his mind, and he forcibly shoves them down). Dean’s relationships have been few and far between, have pretty much ended disastrously, and though he’s technically too old to be part of the hook-up generation, he has the same habits they do. Or, he did. It’s been a while since Dean’s sought sex from any woman he’s met in a bar—it’s been a while since he’s had any one-night stands. Which isn’t really something he’d thought about until right now. 

Cas returns, handing Dean his plate, and digs into his second helping. Dean cuts his chicken up but he’s focused on Cas, trying to dredge up the adequate words for what he wants to say.

“Cas,” he starts, and Cas looks up, his cheeks puffed comically like a chipmunk with the amount of food he’d managed to stuff in his mouth. It makes Dean smile. “Look, man. I know human beings in general aren’t that great. We lie and we steal and we kill. Lots of us cheat on our partners.” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes still on Cas while Cas swallows, takes a sip of water, and watches Dean carefully.

He continues, “I’m not a huge relationship person. You know that. Most of the reason why isn’t that I’m afraid of commitment or whatever, it’s the lifestyle we’ve got. I’ve got maybe three friends left alive, so I don’t have a huge selection of people to try to find positive examples.”

He looks down and scrapes his fork against the ceramic of the plate, says quietly, “But I know my mom loved my dad, and that he loved her back. They wouldn’t have cheated on each other, they loved each other right up until their dying breath. I think if Jess were still alive, Sammy would’ve married her and it would’ve been the same for them.” 

Dean can’t read Cas’ expression, and by this point he feels so damn foolish that he wants to drop the whole thing, but he finishes, “Just, don’t rule it out. Lots of relationships go up in smoke, and things do get ugly, and people hurt each other, but…” He shrugs. “Not always. And it’s worth it if you find someone you like and wanna stick around with.”

Cas licks his lips. “What about you?” 

For half a second, Dean isn’t sure what Cas is asking, but he realizes that, of course, Cas means ‘have you found someone’ and not… the other thing Dean’s brain jumped to first.

“Nah. Like I said, not with this lifestyle. But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t.”

Cas cocks his head, studying Dean intently. “You surprise me sometimes, Dean.”

Dean’s relieved this whole thing is over and he takes a bite of chicken, says around the mouthful, “Yeah, well, I’m just a surprising sort of guy.”

 

xXxXx

 

Right before Sam shows up, Hannah makes her third appearance. This time, they see her. Dean’s watching TV when he hears a shout from the other room. Cas is in the shower (he doesn’t need to take them but Dean’s got him hooked on good water pressure), and Dean has no time to think before he grabs his gun and busts the door down. 

Cas has a towel around his waist and Hannah is in the mirror, has reached through to grab a handful of Cas’ hair and jerk his head back. She hisses to him, “Break things off, Castiel, before he hurts you. He will, he will hurt you, he will leave you. All men do.”

“I don’t think so,” Dean says before he shoots a load of rock salt into the mirror and it shatters. There’s a harsh wind that knocks over soap and shampoo bottles, flinging towels from the rack, and then Hannah’s gone. 

Dean curses—when the mirror broke, a couple shards stuck in Cas’ chest, and they’re fanned out around his bare feet.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” he says, and that’s when Sam runs in, takes stock of the situation. He’s wearing shoes, so he picks Cas up out of the glass and carries him out, ordering Dean to sweep the bathroom out thoroughly while Sam tends to Cas’ wounds.

When Dean returns to the kitchen, Cas is still sitting in his towel, but the few pieces of glass that were sticking out of his chest are gone. They were small pieces anyway, barely enough to cut the skin and Dean’s surprised, really, that they stuck at all. Of course, with it all gone, Cas heals instantly, and there’s no sign that anything was ever amiss.

Dean fills Sam in while Cas goes to put some clothes on. Sam’s stumped. “Okay, so there has to be some sort of an object tying her here.”

Cas comes back in, toweling his hair off. “What about the wedding dress? Her death was a suicide but if that was what she was wearing when she died and her death was considered even remotely suspicious, maybe the police held onto it as part of the investigation.”

Dean points at Cas. “I like you. You’re smart. I’m keeping you around.”

“Yeah, well, that’s generally what marriage entails,” Cas retorts, and Dean doesn’t know why, but he blushes.

 

xXxXx

 

Sam goes alone to the police station the following day. He’d been telling the townspeople that he was an agent sent to finish up an investigation, so no one questioned him when he showed up in a monkey suit, with a badge that said he was FBI agent Jerald Boyle.

It was really easy, actually, too easy for him to walk in and claim that he was taking the dress over for investigative purposes. The police were confused as to why it was being taken to a federal level, because they’d basically ruled out foul play, it seemed like a pretty cut and dried case. But apparently Hannah’s family hadn’t wanted the dress back so it had just been sitting in storage, collecting dust. They were all too happy for Sam to take it off their hands.

Sam waited until it was dark to come over—he and Dean had been trying to keep their identities separate from each other. The window is open because it’s a cool night, and Dean hears the conversation that takes place outside.

Sam’s halfway up the walkway when someone makes him, apparently, calling out “Hey, Jerald!” Dean peeks through the curtain—it’s some guy from the neighborhood that Sam befriended in his travels.

“Hey Eddie! What’s up?”

Eddie stops jogging, slowing to a walk in front of the driveway, and he looks at Sam, puzzled.

“You know these guys?” he asks, and he’s making a funny face.

“Uh, these guys here? Yeah!” Dean’s certain Sam knows their cover story, but all of a sudden, his little brother’s not so forthcoming with the information. He looks a little sheepish when he explains, “Yeah, Andrew is my brother. Step brother, actually.”

“Oh.” Eddie sounds uncertain where he sounded friendly just a moment before. Dean’s holding back laughter at this point. He knows he and Cas have made somewhat of a reputation, but boy, he didn’t realize it was that bad. He’s pretty sure it isn’t even homophobia, it’s just _them_. Whoops.

Sam gives an awkward wave and makes his escape, and when he closes the front door, he levels a glare at Dean.

“What the hell did you guys do to earn yourself such a bad rep around here?”

Dean’s cackling now, and Cas pads in from the kitchen, having overheard the last minute of the conversation outside, and he’s smiling to himself, too.

“Bickered like a married couple,” Dean says with a shit-eating grin.

Sam shakes his head. “That shouldn’t surprise me. That’s not any different than normal.”

“Hey!” Dean starts to protest, but Cas cuts in.

“Do you have the dress?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, left it on the steps. There’s no grave, right?”

“No.” Dean stands, stretches, hearing his spine crack and watching Cas wince across the room. Sam doesn’t even bat an eye anymore, but Cas still gets super concerned about the Winchesters’ physical health. Something as benign as popping joints makes him cringe. “Her ashes were scattered in the river and there’s only one in the town.”

“Theoretically, couldn’t we just burn the dress? If she was burned, the remnants of her body are long gone.”

“Theoretically, but,” Sam turns to look at Cas, “you should burn it there. That was the river where she and Mark went on their first date.”

As Sam says Mark’s name, wind whistles in through the open window, the curtains haphazardly blown into the room. 

“Guess that’s our cue,” Dean mutters, and he moves to gather his stuff, knowing Cas is doing the same.

“Want help?” Sam asks, sounding concerned, but Dean waves him off.

“The happy couple should do it," Dean says and he wags his eyebrows at Cas. Cas just cocks his head, and it makes Dean’s ears burn. Sam sighs, sounding thoroughly put out.

“I’ll be back at the motel. Please call me if you need backup, and let me know when everything’s done.” 

“Will do,” Dean says. They all pile out the door together, his hand on Cas’ shoulder as they walk to the car. He doesn’t notice that he leaves his hand there until Cas is pulling away to walk over to the passenger seat, and Dean doesn’t know when these casual touches become so natural, but he’s certainly not complaining.

 

xXxXx

 

They get to the river and the wind picks up significantly. Dean thinks about bringing the kerosene with him, but it’s a tulle wedding dress. The thing looks like it can probably burn without much help.

It’s a short hike to get to the river, and everything is going fine until they get to the riverbank. That’s when Dean falls. And he doesn’t trip—it feels like someone grabbed his ankle and yanked him down.

He face-plants and gets a mouthful of dirt, but he rolls over and crab-crawls back immediately, trying to see if Hannah has decided to show herself. Cas has the wedding dress thrown over his shoulder, but he’s got a gun with rock salt and he’s looking around too. The wind whips through the trees, menacing, threatening. Dean waves Cas on, into the river. “Go,” he shouts, “I’ve got your back.”

The thing is, they want to burn the dress and then shove the remains into the river to dissipate the way Hannah’s body did, because it’s the most thorough way to do it. Cas moves to stand by the edge of the river, but before he can get the lighter out of his pocket, Hannah appears. 

“Watch out!” Dean cries, and Cas ducks in time for Dean to shoot a load of rock salt through her chest. She’s not discouraged, though, and this time, she goes for Dean.

He doesn’t know when, exactly, he ends up slammed against the trunk of a tree, and then a ghost has her clammy hands all over his neck. Her hair is knotted, disheveled, and in death she’s wearing her wedding dress, too, the same tattered one in Cas’ hands.

“You’ll hurt him,” Hannah sneers. “You’ll hurt him. You already have. You’ve left him before, too.”

Dean’s voice is a hoarse whisper—oxygen deprivation will do that to a guy—but he shoots back, “How is it that you know some of our story, and not all of it?”

Her face twists into confusion, but she tightens her grip and everything is starting to swim around the edges of Dean’s vision.

“Let go of him,” Cas yells from somewhere. Dean flinches, thinking he’s about to get hit with a few rounds of rock salt, but Cas had moved from where Dean saw him last, and he angles so that he shoots her sideways. She disappears in a puff, but she leaves behind maniacal laughter that echoes through the branches, and Dean knows she’ll be back in a second. He collapses at the base of the tree, taking heaving breaths that whistle through his windpipe in a way that’s not at all reassuring.

“Go,” he rasps, “I’ll keep her busy.” Cas doesn’t look entirely convinced but he gets the lighter from his pocket. Striking it proves difficult with all the wind, though, and Dean watches him struggle for a second before Hannah appears beside him. 

Before she can throw him back again, Dean starts running his mouth. 

“You don’t have all the information. I’ve left him. And he’s left me. We’ve already hurt each other.” Her eyes narrow and she gets up in his face again, and Dean has to keep talking while Cas tries to get a working flame.

“But here’s the thing. He dragged my soul out of hell. Actual literal hell. Did you know this guy here is an angel?” He cocks his thumb in Cas’ direction, and Hannah’s head whips around in surprise. Her eyes widen at the sight of the lighter and she tries to throw Cas into the river—which, man that would really screw up their plan to send her dress up in smoke—and Dean finally gets his hand on his own gun, shoots her through the chest. She dissipates and Dean watches the sparks flickering against Cas’ thumb with increasing anxiety.

Hannah, though, is apparently drawn to what Dean’s saying, and suddenly she’s crouching from the tree, yanking Dean’s hair back the same way she did to Cas through the mirror.

“When he turned human, I left him. I abandoned him. He even got stabbed and I thought I lost him.” Dean’s neck is starting to cramp from the way she’s holding his head and from the corner of Dean’s eye, he sees the spark finally ignite in Cas’ hands.

He finishes, “But we keep coming back to each other, me and him. And I’ve learned from my mistakes.” The hem of her dress catches and her image starts to flicker out, starts to incinerate right along with it. Her grip on Dean’s hair releases and he looks into her terror-filled eyes as he spits, “So no. I’m not leaving him.” 

She goes up in flames as the dress does and Cas drops it to the ground, letting it burn. Dean leans over, hands braced on his knees, winded. He finally limps over to Cas once he’s breathing somewhat normally, and together, they kick the smoldering remains into the water.

Silence descends. Cas doesn’t take his eyes off the river, the fragments of charred fabric as the current takes them.

Out of nowhere, Cas asks, “Did you mean it?" 

Dean’s just regaining sensation somewhere near his trachea and he’s not prepared for Cas’ question at all. It takes him a minute. “Oh, the stuff I said to Hannah?”

Cas nods tersely. Dean can’t even see if there are any remaining pieces of the dress, but Cas keeps his eyes resolutely trained on the water.

Dean shuffles from foot to foot and puts his hands in his pockets, but he also knows the answer. “Yeah, I did.”

For a minute, there’s only the gentle whoosh of the water and Dean’s thoughts, buzzing way too hard inside his skull. 

Cas shuffles forward until they’re face to face, and his eyes are flickering back and forth between Dean’s. He seems uncertain for half a beat, but then he takes on an expression of fixed determination. He hooks a finger beneath Dean’s chin and tugs Dean gently forward, the same way he did at the block party (and shit, that means Cas wasn’t acting, that means that the impulse was his and he kissed like Cas and not like he thought Steve should, and _that means_ —)

Cas tips his face up, his eyes hooded, but he stops just shy of his destination, his breath coming in small puffs against Dean’s chin. He’s leaving it up to Dean.

And Dean, Dean is helpless to do anything else. He leans down, presses his lips to Cas’. It’s the most chaste kiss Dean can remember—Cas just takes Dean’s bottom lip between his own, sucks lightly, and lets go. They stay close, though, the bridge of Cas’ nose rubbing against Dean’s as Cas nuzzles him, actually _nuzzles_ him. There’s a breeze around them, a natural one this time, and Cas’ thumb is still on Dean’s chin, and their breath is the loudest thing Dean can hear.

It’s probably two minutes later that they separate, Cas pulling back slowly. He goes to the riverbank and collects his gun, which had been discarded during the fight, and tucks it into the back of his jeans. Dean just stands and stares, unable to move or avert his eyes to somewhere more decent. Cas returns to Dean’s side and gives him a wry smile. His fingers brush Dean’s and he mumbles, “Let’s go,” turns on his heel and steps over the brambles, back to the trail. It takes a few extra seconds for Dean’s legs to catch on before he’s striding after Cas. There’s a chance that he stays behind Cas as they walk back, keeping single-file formation, because he likes the view.

If Cas knows, he doesn’t say anything.

 

xXxXx

 

Dean was worried about tension falling in the car ride home, but he didn’t have to be. The silence is filled, between calling Tommy to tell him they got rid of Hannah, and then calling Sam to tell him the same. 

 “Atta boy!” Tommy cheers, and it makes Dean smile in spite of himself. Praise was not something their father ever rained down upon them, but hearing it from one of Dad’s old friends is pretty fantastic.

Dean overhears Laura asking if Hannah’s spirit is gone, and when Tommy answers that it is, Laura calls out in the background, “You boys stay in that house for as long as you like. Take a few weeks or months off without worrying about keeping a roof over your head. Our treat.”

Man, that sounds appealing, but Dean knows that staying isn’t possible.

But… “Maybe just a few days would be nice,” he admits. 

Tommy echoes Laura’s sentiment. “Place is yours until you don’t want it. Take your time, boys. We’ll be over to say hi tomorrow. Job well done, boys.” And the line goes dead.

Cas reaches over and dials Sam’s number, puts the phone on speaker this time. 

“You guys okay?” Sam answers.

“We’re fine, man. Got her.”

Sam audibly gives a sigh of relief and Dean wants to mock him, but he knows the feeling, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Did she say anything to you guys, like she did the last time you saw her?”

“Uh.” Dean glances over at Cas, who’s staring at him coolly. Okay then.

“Yeah, she said something about how I was gonna leave Cas, and hurt him, or whatever.  A load of bullshit.”

“Huh.” They hear the crinkle of a wrapper, then Sam’s chewing as he says, “It’s funny, ghosts are sometimes omnipotent and sometimes they’re not. Did she ever use your names?” 

“No, not our real or our fake ones.”

“So she didn’t realize you guys were faking it?”

Dean coughs, not having a good reply, so Cas chimes in, “No. She didn’t seem to recognize that we were out to get her, either.” 

“Well, she didn’t know that that one of the other marriage was fake. Remember the gay guy? She just seemed to want to stop marriages from happening, period.”

“So sad,” Cas remarks quietly.

“Well, we got her!” Sam seems chipper about that, at least, and Dean knows the feeling. Cases that take longer than a few days are more satisfying when they're wrapped up. “I assume we’re not hanging around, right?”

“Actually, Laura told us we could stay in the house for as long as we wanted,” Cas says, then he quickly amends, “Not that we should stay too long. You guys have things to do.” When Dean glances over, Cas has worry lines etched into his forehead. Dean will do anything to make them go away.

So he says, “Nah, maybe it’d be good for us to play domestic housewives for a few days." 

Sam is silent for a second too long, finally says, “I wouldn’t mind resting for a little bit.”

“Hey dude, why don’t you come stay with us? I’m sure even our couch is about ten times more comfortable than your motel bed.”

Again, Sam is quiet for too long, but this time, it’s different. “Sammy,” Dean says, smirking, “did you meet someone?”

“Shut up.”

“Is that why you don’t mind sticking around?” Cas asks, and he’s got a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, too.

“Yeah, okay, fine, yes.”

“Good for you, kiddo. You need to get laid,” Dean says sincerely. He knows it’s been a while for Sam.

Sam turns the tables, though, responds quickly, “Plus, I wouldn’t want to interrupt you guys playing housewives,” he says, then he hangs up on them. By then, they’re turning onto their street, and Dean just shakes his head with a laugh.

“Good for him,” he repeats, and Cas is smiling at him, and suddenly Dean remembers standing in the woods, Cas kissing him, and oh _God._

Cas sticks by his side as they walk up the pathway, up to the front door, and Dean slides the key into the lock with his hands only shaking a little bit.

He counts it as a win.

 

xXxXx

 

At first, everything is normal. They polish off the last box of cookies (the toffee ones. Cas likes them, so he’s been eating the box slowly), they sit on the couch and watch a few episodes of CSI just because it’s on. They have a few beers because they deserve it after that salt and burn.

It’s not any different. Cas has been manhandling himself into Dean’s arms for the past week when they’re on the couch together, and after the first few times, Dean has come to expect it. He knew, at the time, that Cas wasn’t doing it for the sake of maintaining their cover for any of the townspeople, but he figured hey, maybe he was doing it to convince the ghost. Now, he’s starting to think maybe there was another motivation there the whole time, and it makes his stomach swoop.

They’re tired, though. They should probably talk about everything, and maybe what they’re going to do over the next couple of days, but Dean wants to be alert for that conversation, and he’s fading fast. Even though Cas doesn’t need sleep, he seems weary, too. Hunting a vengeful spirit can take a lot out of a guy, even if that guy’s an angel and he’s used to much worse.

They wash up side by side, Dean elbowing Cas by accident as he’s brushing his teeth, and they give pasty smiles at each other in the mirror. Cas doesn’t need to brush his teeth, but it’s a custom he got used to when he was human, so he does it anyway. They climb into bed at the same time, and Cas wastes no time cozying up to Dean. That’s new—usually they fall asleep on their respective sides of the bed, but two mornings ago, they’d woken up all tangled in each other, so maybe it’s not so foreign after all.

Cas shoves Dean around until he’s the little spoon. Dean would protest if he weren’t so tired, and if it didn’t actually feel sort of comforting. 

They settle, falling still after they figure out how to arrange all their limbs, their breathing beginning to even out. Cas presses his lips to the back of Dean’s neck and it makes his skin prickle with the sheer intimacy of it. 

Like the first time Cas forced himself into Dean’s arms on the couch, his body is rigid. Then Cas strokes his thumb across Dean’s hipbone, whispers, “You think too loud.”

It makes Dean panic for a second. “Can you hear my thoughts?”

He feels Cas grin against the back of his neck. “Why? Is there anything particularly incriminating I should know about?”

But when Dean doesn’t reply and he remains tense in Cas’ arms, Cas presses a kiss to the space behind Dean’s ear, murmurs, “No. You and Sam told me repeatedly how intrusive that was for you. I hear when you pray to me. I pick up on… on longing.”

Ah, shit. Dean has definitely masturbated to the thought of Cas before. That probably qualifies as “longing.”

Cas makes gentle shushing noises. “I do not listen to your thoughts otherwise. It’s been a long time since I have. You haven’t embarrassed yourself in any way, Dean, I promise.”

Dean begins to relax, the tension finally seeping out of his muscles into the mattress, into the circle of Cas’ embrace. Cas feels it as it ebbs, and he continues to caress his fingers across Dean’s hip.

“We’ve had a long day. We should sleep.”

“You’re right about that. You’re a smart cookie.” Dean’s exhaustion is causing the words to sort of slur together.

“I like cookies,” Cas notes, then he presses his mouth to Dean’s neck again and they drift off together, sleep claiming them like waves, gently dragging them along until they’re submersed.

 

xXxXx

 

In the morning when Dean wakes, the other side of the bed is empty and cold. Cas has been gone for a while.

He sits up, rubs his eyes, stretches and yawns. The house smells… sweet. The scent of something is wafting through the hall. He doesn’t bother putting sweatpants or a shirt on, just gets to his feet and pads into the kitchen.

He finds Cas standing over a pan with a spatula in hand, flipping pancakes like he’s been doing it for all of his existence.

It’s funny, ‘cause Dean’s never been one to pine for the domestic, white-picket-fence sort of life. There are times he wishes he and Sam could have a break, stay in one place longer than a day or two, but he belongs on the road. He’s a hunter, he always has been. The bunker is their home base, and he’s fine with that.

But Cas has the world’s most adorable bedhead, hair sticking up in all directions. He’s got just his boxers and a tee shirt on, and he’s scratching his tummy as he flips the last pancake, and it pulls an elastic tight in Dean’s chest before it snaps, lets go, and everything inside him is loose, resolute. He hasn’t felt this much clarity in a long time.

He walks in, and Cas doesn’t notice until Dean’s practically in front of him.

“Oh! Good morning. I made breakfast,” he says, gesturing to the pancakes as though Dean hadn’t noticed.

Dean feels the last of his hesitation melt away, and he steps forward, wraps his arms around Cas from behind. If he surprises Cas, Cas doesn’t show it. He puts the spatula down and turns in the circle of Dean’s arms so that they’re pressed chest-to-chest, Cas’ nose buried in Dean’s shoulder.

“Didn’t know they taught angels how to do pancakes in heaven.”

“Don’t give me too much credit, I just bought one of those pancake mixes. I thought it might be nice to have a real breakfast for once.”

Dean pulls back a bit to look at Cas’ face. He can’t help the slow smile that spreads across his face. “What, gas station burritos don’t count as real breakfast?”

Cas doesn’t answer, he just leans in and claims Dean’s mouth. Dean has morning breath, Cas doesn’t, but Cas doesn’t seem to give a damn. It starts gentle, slow and unhurried, but Cas slips his tongue across the seam of Dean’s lips and it lights Dean’s insides on fire, a match dropped into gasoline, igniting and spreading. He cradles Cas’ face with one hand while the other arm loops around to the small of Cas’ back, yanking him closer.

Then Cas curses against Dean’s mouth and pulls away, uses the spatula to frantically lift the pancakes off the pan and onto two plates. He turns the stove off, stares at the pancakes, then at Dean.

“Breakfast?”

Dean hums, steps forward and circles his fingers around Cas’ wrist. “I have something else in mind.”

Cas lets himself be tugged along towards the bedroom. “The pancakes are going to get cold.”

“The good thing about pancakes is that they reheat in the toaster pretty well. And we have a toaster.”

Dean leads Cas into the bedroom, turning around to face him by the foot of the bed.

“Liar,” Cas says matter-of-factly as Dean steps in again, placing his hands at Cas’ waist. “Pancakes taste dry if you reheat them in the toaster." 

“Who made you the expert?” Dean whispers, then cuts Cas off before he can say anything else.

They stand there and kiss, holding onto each other like it’s all they have, like they have all the time in the world. Dean’s heart is thudding because the thing about morning sex is that it can’t be blamed on anything—alcohol, night-time loneliness, and even the excuse of horniness barely holds water. You can’t sneak out before dawn to leave it behind, to let the haze descend that would make the whole thing feel like a foggy dream. There’s daylight. There’s nothing hazy about any of it.

But Cas runs his hands over any part of Dean he can reach, steadying him, grounding him. And when Cas sits and then crawls up the bed, beckoning Dean with his finger, Dean follows without thinking twice about it. 

He settles on top of Cas and he knew Cas was already half hard, he’d felt the thick line of him against his leg even when they were standing in the kitchen, but now there’s no denying it as Dean lowers himself over Cas, slotting their hips together. They both gasp, then Cas glues his palms to either side of Dean’s face and kisses him, stealing the breath from his lungs, bucking up against him.

That’s how it is for a while, just the two of them with their tongues and legs tangled and sliding together, rutting against each other like horny teenagers. They pause long enough for Cas to rip his shirt off, then they’re back at it, hungry and wanting. 

They both could probably come like this. It’s been a while for Dean, and if he’s being honest with himself, emotions definitely play into how quickly he gets off. Not that he’s had too many times in his life where that was even applicable, but, well. It is now.

He wants more, though. He breaks away, holds Cas’ head where it is when Cas tries to chase his mouth. Cas’ lips are already incredible (Dean’s imagined them wrapped around his cock far too many times for it to be healthy) but now, they’re swollen and red instead of their usual pink. He licks them unconsciously, and Dean has to fight his instinct to move back in and claim them again. Instead, he drags his lips up the line of Cas’ jaw, briefly sucking on his earlobe before he moves down to Cas’ neck. Apparently, Cas really likes having the skin on his neck sucked—his head falls back and he lets out a guttural moan. Dean takes his time there, licking and biting, trying to elicit every sound from Cas that, up until now, he hasn’t known Cas could make. His own cock is aching persistently between his legs, but he’s enjoying this way too much to be able to even think about it.

He moves down Cas’ body slowly, and when he’s moved slightly below Cas’ nipples and shows no indication of returning to Cas’ mouth, Cas figures out what’s going on and says Dean’s name on a shaky exhale. Dean spares half a second to wonder if April did this for Cas, what sort of a lover she was, what Cas has known. Cas deserves to have someone take their time with him. Cas deserves to have his body played like strings of a violin, to be taken apart and then reassembled. Dean intends to do just that. 

When he reaches the waistband of Cas’ boxers, he opens his mouth to ask if it’s okay, but Cas interjects, “Yes,” before he can even form the words. He wants to tease Cas for his enthusiasm, but this isn’t the time for it. He peels them off carefully, tosses them away, and then looks up Cas’ body.

Cas has his head propped up on a pillow, his hair mussed even more than it already was because Dean has been dragging his fingers through it. His eyes are blue, so incredibly blue, and he’s biting on his lip. His chest is glistening, and sun is streaming through the slats of the shades, illuminating stripes of gold across his chest. His dick is hard and drooling against his stomach, flushed dark.

When Dean wraps his hand around it, hesitant (it’s been a while since he’s done this for anyone but himself), Cas clenches his fists in the sheets, closes his eyes. Dean gently peels one of his hands away from the linens, unfurling his fingers slowly until he can fill the spaces between them with his own. That causes Cas to look up, meet Dean’s eyes. Dean strokes Cas slowly a few times, watches the way Cas immediately fucks up, and he decides he’s teased both of them enough.

He takes Cas into his mouth, just the crown, presses his tongue to the spot beneath that usually makes him see stars. Cas swears (and shit, that turns Dean on like nothing else), and Dean can tell just by the way Cas is moving that he doesn’t have long. He decides to make it as good as possible.

He goes slowly, takes his sweet time; he strokes Cas’ balls with the fingers that aren’t wrapped around the base of Cas’ cock, then slides back to the space just behind, the pocket of skin that’s so sensitive. Cas is enormously responsive to that. He just continues to take shuddering breaths. Dean knows he’s fighting the instinct to buck up into Dean’s mouth, and Dean appreciates it. If it hadn’t been such a long time for him, he’d probably deep-throat Cas without any issues, but as it is, he’s out of practice. Besides, Cas seems to like this just fine.

Cas grips Dean’s hand and croaks, “Please,” and Dean obliges, takes as much of Cas as he an into his mouth and sucks hard. Cas uses his other hand to pull Dean’s head off, and Dean wouldn’t have minded staying right where he was, but when he strokes Cas twice in his fist and then watches him come, he thinks this is better, because he can see everything—the gentle undulation of Cas’ hips, the subtle arch of his back. Dean watches his name fall from Cas’ lips, a hoarse whisper, and then he’s looking down at Dean and Dean’s chest tightens with the way Cas is staring at him.

Cas takes only a few moments to try to recover himself before he pulls Dean up and flips them over. He has Dean’s boxers off before Dean even knows what’s happening, and then Cas’ mouth is on his cock. Cas doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pause or try to collect himself. Dean’s pretty sure Cas has never sucked a dick before but that doesn’t stop him from going to town, taking nearly all of Dean into his mouth in the first pull and now it’s Dean’s turn to try to hold himself still. Cas has both his hands on Dean’s hips, pressing him into the mattress as he drags his tongue up the shaft, spit dripping down to Dean’s balls. It’s so good, it’s so damn good and Dean won’t last more than two minutes. It’s a crying shame, he thinks, before he remembers that this is probably the first time, the first of many times, and it makes him moan.

He glances down and Cas’ eyes are glued to Dean’s face as he sucks, as he bobs his head and swivels and does something with his tongue that makes Dean curse a blue streak. When Dean’s close, he tries to pull Cas off but Cas is having none of it, determined to finish what he started, and Dean comes with a shout, staring into eyes that are too blue as Cas takes everything, takes it all. He’s always taken all of Dean; this is no different.

When he’s licked Dean clean, little careful swipes of his tongue, cognizant of the fact that Dean’s sensitive, he crawls back up Dean’s body. He stays on all fours above Dean and all they can do is look at each other, panting. Dean doesn’t realize his hand has moved until he’s pressing it to Cas’ cheek, and Cas closes his eyes, turns his face into Dean’s palm.

He lowers himself down beside Dean and they end up facing each other, their heads on the same pillow, blankets tangled at their waists. Dean’s tired—he hasn’t had sex like this in God knows how long—and Cas watches him as his eyes droop.

He’s almost asleep as he hears Cas say, “Hannah was wrong,” and it wakes him back up as he takes in the implication of Cas words. 

When he opens his eyes, Cas is staring at him, and his throat is too dry as he rasps, “Yeah?”

Cas nods, firm. “Yes. She was.”

Dean can’t help sealing their mouths together, couldn’t stop it if he tried, and Cas kisses him like it’s a promise.

 

xXxXx

 

Tommy stops by in the morning, sweeps Dean into a bear hug that nearly crushes his bones, which is usually Sam’s job.

“This must be your fiancé,” he says to Dean with a wink. “If only your dad could see you now.”

Dean groans and Cas chuckles, sticks his hand out to shake. “Castiel. I’m Dean’s friend.”

“Well, thank you for your help, Castiel,” Tommy says gratefully, and Cas lowers his eyes, mutters that he’s happy he could help.

They make Tommy a pot of coffee and he stays until Sam comes over in the afternoon to watch The Terminator with them. He and Tommy catch up, and Dean and Sam invite Tommy to stay to watch the movie but Tommy waves them off, citing things he should be doing. He stops on his way out the door to take in the sight of both the Winchesters, says, “Really, your dad would be proud of you two.” Then he’s gone.

They settle in to watch the movie, and it feels weird not to have Cas lying in his arms, but Dean sits in the middle and every so often, their pinkies brush. He’s certain Sam can’t see it, and otherwise he and Cas are no more touchy-feely than they ever have been, but he’s pretty sure Sam knows the score anyway.

Dean levels the playing field. “Going on a hot date tonight?”

Sam blushes a little but he meets Dean’s eyes. “Yeah. We’re going out to dinner.”

Dean whistles and Sam interjects, “It’s not like we’re staying around here, nothing’s gonna come of it. It’s just nice to be close to someone for a little while, y’know?”

Dean fights to keep his eyes from traveling over to Cas, but he feels Cas’ gaze heavy on him as he replies, “Yeah. I do.”

 

xXxXx

 

They give themselves four more days, time enough to tie up loose ends.

They walk over to Lilla’s house one afternoon, right after school gets out. Thankfully, she’s the one who opens the door. It would’ve been difficult to explain to her mom why they were visiting. 

Her face lights up when she sees them, and it’s with some pride that Dean notes she’s wearing the sweatshirt that her troop won for selling all those cookies. “Hi, guys! Come in!”

“Is that okay with your mom?” Dean asks, and Lilla holds the door open for them.

“She’s not home. Daddy’s working downstairs, he won’t come up. He never does.”

“Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to invite strangers inside?” Dean teases as Lilla leads them through to the family room.

She shakes her head. “You’re not strangers, silly.”

Dean can tell that Cas is just as reluctant to break the news to her that they’re leaving, but it’s better to tell her than to just vanish into the night. Besides Ben, Dean’s never had any sort of a friendship with a kid, and it sucks to have to say goodbye. 

“Why are you leaving? I thought you guys were getting married here!” Her eyes go wide. “Is it Hannah?”

Dean chooses his words carefully, but he and Cas decided they'd be honest with Lilla, since she's the one who helped them get Hannah. “Would you believe us if we said we hunt ghosts?”

Lilla stares at Dean and then Cas, who fidgets nervously beside him. Eventually she blinks, looks back at Dean. “Really?”

“Really really.”

She twists one of her curls between her fingers. “Did you get rid of Hannah’s ghost? Is that why you were here?” 

“Yes, and yes,” Cas says, and Lilla nods, thoughtful.

“But you aren’t going to stay?”

“There are other ghosts out there,” Cas explains, gentle. “We’re trying to make it safe for everyone, so that people can live without being afraid to do things like get married." 

Lilla narrows her eyes. “Wait. Are you two even together?” 

Dean’s the one who reaches for Cas’ hand, and he returns Lilla’s gaze evenly, undaunted. “Yes. That part’s true.”

She looks relieved, and Dean remembers why he tends to avoid kids: sometimes, they break your heart.

She walks them to the door. She wraps her arms around Cas first, then Dean. He returns the hug, patting her back awkwardly, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“What are your real names?”

Dean says, “You can’t tell anyone, okay?” Lilla nods, and he takes a breath. “I’m Dean. This is Cas.”

“Dean and Cas,” she says, like she’s trying them out. She nods. “I’m glad I met you.”

“Wait, Lilla. When’s your birthday?” Cas asks, and he pulls out a pen.

She makes a face. “January 11th. Why?”

Cas writes the date down. “We’ll send you a birthday card.” 

She looks shocked, and then she grins. “Really?”

“Is that okay with you?”

Her “yes” is immediate and she hugs Cas one more time.

When they get back to the house, Cas enters the date into Dean’s calendar, along with Lilla’s address.

“Just in case I’m not there to remind you,” he explains.

The words make Dean anxious, the implication that Cas won’t be around. He doesn’t say anything, and when Cas returns the phone the Dean’s back pocket and takes a look at Dean’s face, he immediately figures it out. 

“I never want to leave you,” he says, soft, and he steps close, knocks their foreheads together. “That’s always been true." 

“Then stay.” Dean’s embarrassed the moment the words form on his lips, and Cas pulls back an inch, looks a bit surprised. Then, his expression melts into something tender, something that flips Dean’s stomach inside out.

“Okay,” Cas breathes. “I will.”

Dean knows it isn’t that simple. It’s never that simple. In fact, this may complicate things. 

But then again, he reflects as he presses his mouth against Cas’, maybe it won’t. Maybe it’ll all work out okay.

Cas is no longer skeptical the way Hannah was. Maybe that can be enough.

 

xXxXx

 

True to their word, they send Lilla a birthday card every year. And they always sign it from both of them.

 

 


End file.
